The aisles smelled of mothball dust

but that didn’t matter.

He walked through them

with enough confidence

for the two of us.

Our idea of a date

was a game

of sifting through centuries

of sweaters until we found one ugly enough

to put our grandparent’s to shame.

He slipped on a thick,

brown and yellow argyle

mammoth of stitches.

Our smiles voted unanimously;

It won by a landslide.

Meanwhile, inside, my heart was knitting

it’s own lumpy masterpiece

just as hideous as the one on his shoulders

yet designed to fit perfectly

during the impending winter.